


Skipping Record

by TheManicMagician



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bet au, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Sans Remembers Resets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: Papyrus and Sans come to realize they're stuck in a never-ending loop of resets. They cope as best they can.





	

**Author's Note:**

> AU is by [Invalid Op](http://opinioninvalid.tumblr.com/.) I'm just playing in the sandbox.

The cardboard roof of his guard post is drooping, bogged down by snowfall from the night before. A future royal guard cannot have a station so unbecoming, so Papyrus scales a nearby tree to gain enough height to easily scoop it off. Papyrus swipes the snow to the ground, and frowns. The cardboard is soggy now, potentially ruined.

He climbs back down from the tree and takes a few steps back to scrutinize the entire construct. Part of the roof curls in on itself now, a residual effect from contact with water. Papyrus notices the flaw in the structure at a glance—but would Undyne?

He’s ripped from his musings as the ground beneath him quakes violently. Unprepared, Papyrus pitches forward, tasting a mouthful of snow. Trees quiver, thin saplings snapping on their sides. Papyrus’ sentry station, hardly crafted from stable materials, collapses on top of itself.

Papyrus picks himself up as the shaking subsides, brushing snow from his sweater.

“Oh dear,” He mutters to himself, without his usual joviality.

Earthquakes are infrequent, but when they do hit, they’re nothing less than catastrophic. Papyrus sets off at a brisk jog back towards town. He’d passed by a group of children playing on the way to his shift. He needs to see if they’re alright.

Papyrus’ phone buzzes, and he picks up the call without slowing his pace.

“I am relived you did not sleep through the quake, brother!”

“You’re alright, then?” Sans asks.

“Nyeh heh heh! Most assuredly.” A fallen tree trunk lays in the center of the path; Papyrus jumps, clearing it easily. “I am more concerned about the few baby bones I saw this morning! I am looking for them now, to bring them safely back to town.”

“I’ll keep an eye socket out too on my way back.” Sans says. His voice has that strained snap to it that Papyrus knows to mean he’s worried, but doing his best to not broadcast it. “Stay safe, bro.”

“And you as well!”

Papyrus hangs up, stuffing the phone back into his pocket as he spots figures in the distance.

“Hello!” He calls out, waving to catch their attention. “Please, stay where you are! The Great Papyrus is coming to your assistance.”

A second quake rips through the ground. Papyrus struggles to keep his footing, but the children’s frantic cries make him determined not to fall and waste any time.

He skids to a stop before them. Panic wars with relief in their eyes—an adult has come to help them, but the situation is still incredibly frightening.

“Is anyone hurt?” There’s three of them—a snowdrake and a pair of icecaps. With some careful maneuvering, he’s sure he can carry them all back to the relative safety of Snowdin.

“Someone’s trapped under here!” The snowdrake—Snowy, the runaway, his mind supplies—gestures to a fallen trunk. A gyftrot fawn is trapped underneath, legs kicking weakly in the churned-up snow, eyes glassy with pain.

Papyrus crouches down by the trunk.

“Stand back, all of you.”

The trio scamper a few feet away, huddling close together for comfort. Papyrus gives the gyftrot’s leg a gentle pat, flashing his bravest smile.

“Everything will be alright! Just hang on a few moments more.”

The child bleats softly, ceasing her struggles to not interfere with Papyrus’ efforts.

Papyrus digs out the packed snow enough to get his hands firmly wedged beneath the trunk. Limbs shuddering with effort, Papyrus heaves the weighty tree the slightest inch from the ground. He forms several bone constructs underneath the trunk, carefully avoiding anywhere near the fawn.

Cautiously, slowly, Papyrus feeds his magic into the bones, growing them in size, and they help him lift the tree higher and higher.

Papyrus assesses the fawn once the trunk has been raised enough. Her back legs are most certainly broken, and her stomach doesn’t look too good either. Wincing with sympathy, Papyrus turns the gyftrot’s soul blue. He uses the gentlest touch to lift the fawn slightly into the air, and moves her over to hover above the open ground.

Papyrus lets go of the trunk and dissipates his magic, and the tree thuds back to the ground, rolling some.

He lowers the wounded gyftrot into his arms, cradling her carefully. Her back flanks twitch, foamy sweat coating her body.

Papyrus cups the gyftrot’s soul in his hands and wraps it in a soothing balm of healing magic. Papyrus is a far cry from a master healer, but he has the magical reserves to expend, and if there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s reknit broken bones. He works quickly as is safe, uneasy with lingering here for too long.

Papyrus glances up from the fawn to meet the eyes of the other children.

“Were you out with anyone else?”

“N-No, it was just us.” Snowy manages.

Papyrus lets slip a small sigh of relief.

“Good. As soon as she’s stable enough to move, we’ll—”

A mighty crack of noise rents the air. The children shriek at the sight of something behind him; Papyrus turns to see a landslide of trees, rocks, and snow hurtling towards them at breakneck speed.

Papyrus acts. Turning the three children’s souls blue, he flings them as far away from the coming avalanche as he can, as far as his magical range stretches. To move the gyftrot would be fatal, so he curls around her, shielding her from debris with his body. An agonized scream is ripped from him as something hard and heavy collides with his spine, sending him sprawling overtop the fawn. The blow knocks his body out of alignment, and he can’t so much as twitch his fingers. His head buzzes with thoughts of his failure, his despair at what Sans will find of him, and white nothingness roars up all around him—

~*~

Papyrus gasps awake, clutching at his chest, his soul thudding with terror. His sheets have been soaked through with a panicked sweat.

He flinches as the door to his bedroom is slammed open, Sans moving to his bedside with an uncharacteristic speed.

“Sans—” He chokes out.

“Are you alright?”

Papyrus pulls him up onto the mattress, and the two brothers cling to each other in a tight hug.

“I had a…a dream, a terrible nightmare.” Papyrus explains, once his breathing has calmed enough for him to speak coherently. “There was an earthquake, it triggered a landslide. I was trying to save these baby bones, and I…”

He trembles at the memory of that crushing wave of white, robbing him of everything.

“God, Papyrus, I—I saw the wreckage, saw them pull your clothes from the snow.” Sans scrubs at his eye sockets. “It felt so _real_. What the hell is going on?”

“Maybe it was some sort of…twin telepathy dream power?”

Sans chuckles thickly. “Somethin’ tells me we would’ve experienced this before now if that were the case.”

“Well I don’t see you offering a better explanation,” Papyrus says, crossly. He feels Sans shrug against him.

“So…what now?”

“There’s still time before our shifts,” Papyrus says, disentangling from Sans and standing. “I will make us a breakfast delicious enough to smite any further suspiciously-linked nightmares!”

That morning in their shared dream, Papyrus had spent the hours cleaning up around the house before heading out to his shift. Sans had shuffled downstairs ten minutes before their shift started to toast himself some bread. Instead, Papyrus devotes the first hour of the morning to preparing a breakfast to end all breakfasts.

He cracks a handful of eggs into a skillet, and finds himself zoning out, staring at the shells and yokes sizzling together in the pan until they blacken. Papyrus shakes himself from his stupor, forcefully pushing the nightmare to the far back of his mind. He makes pancakes in the shape of smiley faces, but they congeal together into charred masses by the time they’re finished. No matter! It’s the intention that counts.

He sets one of the plates in front of Sans, who has taken a seat at the kitchen table. As he waited for Papyrus to finish preparing their meal, he sprinkled their pet rock with its daily intake of sprinkles.

“How’s the food?” Papyrus asks as Sans swallows down his first bite of the eggs.

Sans winks.

“Egg-cellent.”

“Sans.”

“Egg-straordinary.”

“Sans, no.”

“Egg-quisite?”

“Sans! I am asking for a culinary critique, not a sampling of your terrible humor.”

“Looks like someone can’t take a _yoke_.”

They bicker, as siblings do, until Papyrus notices the hour.

“…I should get dressed. It’s almost time for us to go.”

Just like that, the careful layers of good mood the two had built up shreds apart like tissue paper. Papyrus collects their dishes wordlessly, placing them in the sink to clean later.

Afterwards, he returns to his bedroom to dress. He had planned to wear his gray sweater today, the one with the fuzzy pink elephant sewn onto the front. But he shies away from it at the last moment. It’s what he had worn in the nightmare. Although he feels foolish for it, he doesn’t want to chance anything. So instead, he pulls on his cool dude shirt overtop a cozy black sweater.

Sans is waiting for him downstairs, and Papyrus doesn’t miss the relieved expression that flashes across his face as he sees Papyrus’ chosen outfit.

“Come now, brother. We mustn’t be late.”

Sometimes, Sans slips ahead to his sentry station by himself, and Papyrus gets in a decent jog on the way to his own post. But today, there’s an unspoken agreement that they’ll walk together. They’ve left the town behind them, and are nearly halfway there when they come across the children, playing in the snow.

Papyrus hesitates a moment, then walks over to them. Sans isn’t far behind. The kids look up at the skeleton brothers, perturbed.

“Hello! I am sure you are having a nice time in the snow out here, but the same snow falls over the town, does it not? It all fell at the same time, and the melting effects from the Gyftmas lights should be rather miniscule I think, making it relatively the same consistency no matter whether you were here or there.”

The kids stare at Papyrus blankly. He glances sideways to Sans for help.

“You guys should stick close to home for today.” Sans kicks at a clump of snow by his slipper. “Supposed to be a bad storm comin’ in.”

Snowy rustles his feathers. “We didn’t hear nothing about a storm.”

Before Papyrus can craft some elaborate story of adults having a separate, more accurate weather channel, Sans pulls out a few gold coins and drops them into one of the ice cap’s hands.

“Go buy yourselves some cinnamon bunnies. On us.”

They flip a complete 180, from belligerent to grateful, chirping out their thanks before heading back to town.

“…Thanks, Sans.” It was just a nightmare. But why chance their safety, when they could be removed from risk entirely?

“No prob, bro.”

Papyrus scans the tree line, but he doesn’t spy the gyftrot fawn anywhere. Reluctantly, he presses on.

He frowns at the sight of his sentry station. Snow is piled on top of the roof, sagging it down. Sans is idling around him, so Papyrus gathers himself and shoos his brother away.

“I won’t have you late to work on account of me!”

“I’m going, I’m going. Just…stay safe, okay?”

“And you as well,” Papyrus says, their exchange giving him a strange wave of déjà vu.

After Sans leaves, Papyrus stares dubiously up at the roof of his sentry station. He can’t _not_ remove the snow, but that’s exactly what he did before.

Then, a golden flower pops up from the ground in front of him.

“Howdy, Papyrus!”

The skeleton crouches down before him.

“Greetings, Flowey!” Papyrus returns, just as enthusiastically. He hasn’t seen his friend around in some time. “How are you?”

Flowey’s smile dims. “Papyrus, we’re good friends, right?”

“The best!” Papyrus assures him hastily.

“So, you trust me? If I asked you to do something, you’d do it?”

“What is this about, Flowey? Do you need my help with something?”

Flowey fixes him with a pleading expression.

“I need you to head straight home. It’s not safe to be outside today.”

“No, that’s—” Papyrus shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Flowey, but there’s a gyftrot fawn, they could get trapped, I can’t leave them—”

Flowey is suddenly centimeters from his face, eyes wide.

“You…remember it? You remember the landslide?”

“It has taken the title of “Least Favorite Nightmare” from that one with the conveyor belts.” Papyrus confirms. Then wonders, “But how did you know about my nightmare, Flowey?”

An earthquake rumbles beneath the ground. Papyrus slips onto his backside in the snow; his sentry station collapses easily.

Flowey grabs Papyrus’ skull with his vines, tilting his head towards him.

“Papyrus,” Flowey sounds more serious than Papyrus can ever recall him sounding. “The next time you see me, ask if I want to get ice cream.”

Papyrus’ phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Promise me, Papyrus, that you’ll ask. As soon as you see me next.”

“O-Okay.” He’s confused beyond measure, but agrees.

He fumbles through his pockets, pulling out the phone that continues to vibrate so insistently. It has to be Sans—

~*~

Papyrus wakes up in his racecar bed.

He rolls over, checking the date on his phone. The same date as before, hours ahead of where he was.

There’s a rapping noise at his window. Flowey has hoisted himself up by his vines to reach the second floor.

Papyrus opens the window, letting Flowey curl overtop of his computer.

“Good morning, Flowey! You’re here rather early.”

“I wanted to see you.” Flowey’s stare pins him down. He’s waiting for something.

Papyrus remembers.

“Oh! You said you wanted to get ice cream?” Flowey’s neutral expression morphs into shock. “I know that nice lady that owns the general goods store has a cousin who—”

“You really do remember,” Flowey breathes.

The door creaks open. Sans has joined them, looking as perturbed as Papyrus feels.

Flowey looks between the two of them.

“We need to talk.”

~*~

After Papyrus introduces Flowey to Sans, the three of them settle downstairs at the kitchen table to speak.

Flowey explains things Papyrus would never have guessed—who he used to be, how he came to be who he is now. How his new form grants him the power to “reset” time. And how he’s been using that power to influence and change things.

When Flowey is finished his explanation, Papyrus sneaks a glance at his brother. Sans’ perpetual grin gives away nothing.

Papyrus huffs. “I suppose I owe you an apology, brother. I kept nagging at you to pick up your room, but you were cleaning it, weren’t you?”

“Nah, I never did.” Sans admits. “But it did feel like you were askin’ me to do it every other second.”

“But why do you two remember?” Flowey asks. “No one else has.”

Sans shrugs, already accepting it for what it is. Papyrus’ mind whirs with possibilities. Perhaps their magical makeup has some connection two it. Maybe they could design a machine to measure resets?

Before any of that, though, something else takes precedence.

“Flowey, can you bring us back to this morning, when we first woke up? Every second counts.”

Flowey nods, and—

~*~

Papyrus pushes himself out of bed and dresses quickly. Sans rolls off his mattress in record time (for him). The brothers part ways at the door. Sans heads off into town, to ask parents to keep their children inside today. Although Snowy is a runaway, he won’t tromp about in the woods without his friends with him.

Meanwhile, Papyrus and Flowey search the forest until they locate the nearby herd of gyftrots. The younger ones shy away from the boisterous skeleton, but Papyrus speaks with the elders of the tribe and warns them of the impending natural disaster. They thank him and move their camp, vanishing deeper into the woods.

When the earthquakes and resultant landslides hit hours later, no monsters are caught up in them. Although there is some damage to the buildings in town, the total safety of its inhabitants is worth celebrating.

Grillby’s is packed that night, the usual patrons pulling in their friends and family in to celebrate.

Papyrus sits up at the bar counter with Sans, watching his brother swallow down his seventh shot of the evening. Word had spread of the brothers’ prediction, and now everyone in town is lining up to buy them drinks. Papyrus slurps at his second milkshake; he’d been offered something stronger, but refused. _Someone_ has to drag Sans home in a few hours.

“How did you know?” Doggo asks, staring in Papyrus’ general direction. “How did you know what would happen?”

“Let’s just say…we could feel it in our bones. Nyeh heh heh!”

Sans snorts into his glass, sloshing alcohol all over his shirtfront.

“Good one, bro.”

“Sans, I _just_ cleaned that jacket for you!” Papyrus fusses, dabbing at the spreading stain.

Sans swats him away drunkenly, and Papyrus surrenders the battle for the moment. Glancing around the bar, he spots yellow petals peeking in the window.

Papyrus pushes off from the barstool.

“Where ya goin’?” Sans slurs.

“I’m just stepping out for some air.” Papyrus’ gaze flicks to Grillby. The fiery bartender has watched mutely this entire time as his bar dissolved into chaos. “Keep an eye on him?”

Grillby nods.

“I can look after m’self.” Sans protests.

Rolling his eyes, Papyrus pushes his way through the crowd and exits the bar. The crisp night air is a stark difference to the warmth of the bar. Shivering, he crouches down next to Flowey.

“You don’t have to stay out here, friend. I can bring you inside if you’d like!”

“What are you going to do now, Papyrus?”

“Oh, I’m waiting for Sans to finish up. He’s two drinks over his usual limit, so I suspect it won’t be too long until he passes out, leaving me to haul him home.” Papyrus sighs. “And then he’ll sleep in all next morning, the lazy bones.”

“Not—immediately. I mean, you know about the resets now. Have you ever thought about what you could do, what you could _really_ do, if nothing was holding you back?”

“I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

Flowey grins, exposing thorny teeth. “Come on, Papyrus. Not everything’s sunshine and daisies, even with you. Just once, wouldn’t it be nice to tell someone what you really feel? Like Undyne, for instance.”

“Undyne’s my friend!” Papyrus protests.

“Undyne belittles and infantilizes you. Come on, wouldn’t it be nice to just teach her a lesson? And then I’ll reset whenever you’d like.”

“No.”

Flowey falters. “No? Papyrus, I really would reset for you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

“Even if Undyne wouldn’t remember, _I_ would. I don’t know how I’d live with myself, hurting my friend and getting away with it.” Papyrus draws himself up. “If that’s the sort of thing you’ve been doing, Flowey, then it needs to stop.”

Flowey scowls.

“And if I find that you’ve been doing so, I’ll stop you myself. No matter how long it takes.” Papyrus stands, moving back to the door to step inside. Over his shoulder, he calls: “Remember, Flowey. I won’t forget what you do.”

~*~

Several days later finds Papyrus waiting in a long line in front of a store in New Home. While most of his shopping needs can be taken care of at the local Snowdin shop, or at the dump, he makes the occasional trip out here for items he can’t get anywhere else.

Today, for instance, he’s waiting in line to receive Mettaton’s newest figurine. Sans would have gone with him, but for once in his life he’s too busy with work. Behind him in line is a sweet bear monster child. A Mettaton patch is stitched onto the front of her striped sweater.

They chat amicably as the line slowly progresses. Papyrus learns that her name is Juniper, and she lives in the city, not too far from here, which is why her parents let her wait in line alone.

Juniper and Papyrus discuss their favorite Mettaton films and the like, and before they know it, they’ve reached the front of the line. Papyrus presses money into the cashier’s hand, and is given the newest edition to the Mettaton figure line. He gazes down with adoration at the box. This is the “Cooking with a Killer Robot” edition of Mettaton, complete with a chef hat and cookware accessories—pots, pans, and chainsaws.

He waves Juniper goodbye outside the store after she assures him that she knows how to get home. He watches her leave, just in case she doubles back and needs directions after all, but frowns as he notices two larger monsters peel off from the crowd to follow after her. Papyrus knows it’s rude to jump to conclusions, but Undyne always told him to trust his gut.

So Papyrus trails them, picking up his pace as they trail Juniper into a side street.

“Stop it!” Juniper cries.

Papyrus arrives just in time to see one of the monsters snatch the Mettaton figure right out of the girl’s paws. He turns the monster’s soul blue, pushing him gently to the ground.

“There’s no need for that!” Papyrus scolds. “Return it to her at once.”

The second monster darts in front of Papyrus faster than he can react, and rams his fist into the skeleton’s mandible. He’s got one heck of a right hook; Papyrus is knocked flat on his back, momentarily dazed. The two thieves take off with Juniper’s toy before they can be caught again.

Juniper crouches by his side.

“Are you alright, Mr. Skeleton?”

“Nyeh, I am quite fine.” Papyrus rubs at his jaw. It’s a bit sore, but nothing that won’t go away in a few days. “And call me Papyrus. Mr. Skeleton was my dad’s name. I think.”

Papyrus stands. “But are you alright?”

Juniper nods. He checks her, just to be sure, but she’s at max HP. Just shaken and frightened from the experience.

“The Great Papyrus will walk you home.”

She gives him a tremulous smile and takes his hand. Together they navigate trough the crowded streets of New Home until they reach her doorstep.

“Before you go—here.” Papyrus hands her his Mettaton figure. The thieves hadn’t noticed his when they robbed Juniper.

She hesitates at first. “Are you sure?”

“The surest!” He pats the top of her head. “Take care now.”

Papyrus waits until she disappears safely inside her house before he makes his way back to the heart of New Home, to the nearest ferry stop.

~*~

Papyrus puts the incident with the robbers behind him. Sans is concerned and angry when he comes home bruised, but Papyrus talks him out of retribution.

The following morning, there’s a scratching at the front door. Papyrus opens it to see the pesky white dog, the daily newspaper in its mouth.

“Give me that!” Papyrus quickly swipes it from the dog. “Your drool will ruin the ink.”

Papyrus is about to pick out the jumble for himself and the funnies for sans, but pauses when the front headline catches his eye. Two dust piles were found last night in a back alley in New Home. Plant matter, such as vines and thorns, were also found at the site. It doesn’t take a genius like Papyrus to put two and two together.

Papyrus heads to the small clearing in Waterfall, where he and Flowey like to go sometimes to talk and stare at the glimmering rocks.

Papyrus cups his hands to his mouth. “Flowey! I need to speak with you.”

It doesn’t take long for his flower friend to pop up. He’s all smiles, the way Sans is when he’s done something wrong and is trying his damnedest to pretend he didn’t.

“Howdy, Papyrus!”

“You have to reset to yesterday.” Papyrus brandishes the newspaper. “I know what you did, and it does _not_ have the Papyrus Seal of Approval.” He flashes a hurt expression. “How could you do that?”

The robbers deserve justice, sure, but what they did doesn’t warrant being dusted. No crime does.

“Those rats hurt you and stole a child’s toy to turn a profit.” Flowey says blackly. “They got what was coming to them. The world is better off without them.”

“Flowey, you said you’d reset if I asked. Well, I’m asking you now. I can fix this; just let me do this my way.”

Flowey sighs, full of reluctance, and Papyrus—

~*~

Papyrus wakes up in his racecar bed. Shaking a drowsy Sans awake, he explains the situation.

Sans calls out of work to wait with Papyrus in line for the figure, and together the two of them take down the would-be robbers, giving them up to the royal guard headquarters in New Home.

As a peace offering of sorts, Papyrus invites Flowey inside their house that night. During the day he’s busy finding the best pot for Flowey to sit in, so he leaves Sans in charge of baking the conciliatory pie.

Flowey spits it out after the first couple of mouthfuls.

“It tastes disgusting.” He glares at Sans. “Are you trying to poison me or something?”

Papyrus cuts open the pie, to see what went wrong. Perhaps Sans used ingredients past their expiration date? He peels back the crust. In the very center is a balled-up sock.

“ _Sans_.” Papyrus is aghast.

“Huh. How about that.” Sans says, completely deadpan.

“You did that on purpose.” Flowey hisses.

Sans breaks off a crumb of the pie, popping it into his mouth as Papyrus and Flowey look on in disgust.

“Not too bad, actually.”

“Why don’t you just eat the whole thing yourself, then?” Flowey tries to scrub the taste of it off his tongue with one of his vines.

“I’ll take you up on that bet,” Sans says. “If you agree to my terms.”

“What are they?”

“You’ll tell us why you reset.” Sans’ voice grows cold, killing the humor of the moment. “Every time.”

“…Only if you eat the sock, too.”

“Flowey!” Papyrus cuts in.

“Deal.”

Sans starts cutting himself off a slice of the disgusting pie.

“Sans!” Papyrus doesn’t know who he’s more affronted by right now.

“Don’t worry, Papyrus. I’ll reset right after.” Flowey assures him.

Still, Flowey takes sadistic glee in Sans eating every bit of the pie. After he swallows down the sock, there’s a sickly flush to his face. Sans teleports, and Papyrus just knows he’s in the upstairs bathroom. Papyrus winces as the sounds of his brother emptying the contents of his stomach are audible even down here.

Flowey lets him suffer a few seconds more before pulling them back—

~*~

The Sock Pie Incident sparks a new enmity between Sans and Flowey. They constantly challenge each other to ridiculous bets—who can eat the most peppers, who can get Jerry to ditch them, et cetera. They funnel their distaste for each other into the bets, and Papyrus is glad when all the time they spend together as a result kindles a grudging friendship between the two of them.

Their bets begin to take a less vicious edge, and that’s when Papyrus jumps in on the bets as well. They work out a nice system between the three of them, devising a stratification of rewards, depending upon the severity of the bet. Papyrus has learned things about himself that he wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. For instance, he knows now that he can bench press Undyne. But if he bench presses Undyne, then she’ll want him to bench press her while she’s holding a boulder, and that doesn’t turn out well for anyone, really.

Perhaps most important of all, though, is that Flowey hardly ever resets without them present. The few times they aren’t around, Flowey carefully lays out his reasoning. Papyrus shudders to think what might’ve happened if Sans and he were not aware of the resets and able to police Flowey’s actions. They don’t let Flowey slip into the mindset of “nothing matters”. Flowey is held accountable now, by the two of them.

~*~

It’s a day like any other when the human arrives. Papyrus has tried to trick them with several puzzles, but so far they’ve completed each challenge he’s set before them with a deft hand. And it certainly didn’t help that Sans’ traps, half-hearted as they were, could hardly be called such.

Papyrus is tying the annoying dog up into his latest, most elaborate trap, when the world stutters, dragging them back to a few minutes before, when the little pooch was gnawing on his leg.

“Bad dog! Bad!”

He shakes his leg, but the canine’s teeth have sunk in deep, and it stays latched on.

Sans, just as he had a few minutes ago, pries the dog away from Papyrus’ leg. It squirms in his hands, wiggling its tail playfully as it tries to lick at the shorter brother’s skull.

“Huh. Weird.” Sans says. “Why would the weed reset out of nowhere?”

“Brother, you should not insult our dear friend—”

Speak of the devil; Flowey bursts out of the ground in front of them.

“You two felt that?” He asks, urgently.

“You mean the reset?” Asks Papyrus. “Of course!”

“I didn’t do it.”

Sans’ grin twitches. “So someone else—?”

“The human took it from me.” Flowey explains, frustration seeping into his voice. “I don’t know how, but they did it.”

“Wowie, humans really are strong.” Papyrus projects false confidence into his voice. “Still, it will be fine. I’m sure of it!”

“Of course, bro.” Sans wants to believe in him, but Flowey just looks at him skeptically.

Then Papyrus spots the top of the human’s head as they near the bridge and scrambles into action.

“They’re here! Quick, Sans, help me get the dog into its battle position!”

~*~

The human does not manage to claim Papyrus’ heart, but they do secure his strictly-platonic admiration and friendship. Sans keeps an eye on the human as they make their way through the Underground, filling Papyrus in on the highlights of their journey.

Sans also tells Papyrus every time they reset, it’s because another monster has gotten overzealous with their magic and killed them. It’s disheartening to hear, but he admires the human’s capacity to keep moving forward.

Every time the clock ticks back to hours before, Papyrus makes sure to give the human a quick call, spouting off some inane factoid in the hopes that it cheers them up some. He’s sure dying repeatedly would be rather unpleasant.

And then the human, with the assistance of the six souls, shatters the barrier.

Papyrus and Sans stand side by side on an outcropping on Mount Ebott, overlooking a whole valley. The real, actual sun warms Papyrus’ bones. And best of all, the world stretches out to a faraway horizon. It’s so much larger and expansive than he could’ve imagined.

“I-I’m going to make a great first impression!”

Papyrus excuses himself from the group, barely able to contain his excitement. He wants to see who else is out there. Are all humans like Frisk? If so, he can’t wait to make a great many more friends.

Sans catches up, picking his way down the rocky path behind him.

Papyrus glances back at him, smile beaming.

“Sans, we made it, we—”

~*~

Papyrus wakes up in his racecar bed.

He stares up at the ceiling blankly for a moment. He had just been _outside_. The human had freed them! The human…

“…has reset abilities.” Papyrus mutters to himself.

His soul twinges with hurt. Things had been really great, better than they’d ever been. Was Frisk unhappy with them? Did they do something to upset them?

Sans says nothing during breakfast, in mute shock at what has happened. Papyrus gives him a few brotherly pats on the shoulder, but they fail to rouse Sans from his fugue state.

After breakfast, they walk to their sentry stations quietly.

That is, until Flowey pops up before them.

“Something’s wrong with them.” Flowey warns. “They’re different this time. Crueler. You should stay away from them.”

“Don’t talk poorly about Frisk!” Papyrus scolds him.

“I don’t think it’s Frisk anymore.”

“Now, Flowey—”

“Whatever,” Flowey cuts in. “Get yourself killed then, idiot.”

Papyrus flinches back at the insult. Flowey hasn’t called him that in a long time.

The snow fluffs up at the flower’s departure.

“Well,” Sans says, a dark look about him. “I guess we better get to our stations and wait for the root of the issue.”

“Don’t be crass, Sans.”

~*~

Frisk is…not what he expects, even with Flowey’s warning. Dust clings to the cuffs of their striped sweater. Their eyes, which had once sparkled with laughter and love, are now hollow disks of apathy.

Most jarring of all, they show no interest in his puzzles, no fascination with the monsters they encounter. Even their methodical dusting of monsters doesn’t seem to bring them any sort of joy or satisfaction. As if this is all just some mundane process to them, some task that needs to be carried out.

Snowdin is evacuated as the sentries fall one by one. But Papyrus does not head for the River Person’s boat with the rest of the population, but back to the outer edge of Snowdin, where he battled the human for the first time. He has just passed Grillby’s bar as someone grabs his glove—Sans.

“Don’t fight them, Pap.” Sans pleads with him. “Please, just—just come with me on the boat—”

Papyrus squeezes his brother’s hand comfortingly in his own.

“You know I have to try. I’m their friend! I’m sure once I explain to them what they’re doing is wrong, they’ll see the error of their ways.”

Papyrus gives his brother a quick hug. His face scrunches up—Sans stinks of sweat and day-old ketchup.

“Don’t do this.” Sans says, but he already sounds defeated.

“Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

Papyrus turns on his heel, heading away from the center of town. Guilt twists within him, but he has to stay resolute. He just needs Frisk to hear him out, and everything will work out fine. It has to.

He paces back and forth as he waits. God, what is he doing here? What if something _does_ happen to him? He can’t leave Sans alone.

But when the human arrives, Papyrus refuses to let his fear overcome him. He knows they’ve done wrong, but…it’s still Frisk. Frisk, who went on a date with him, who cooked spaghetti with Undyne, who helped Dr. Alphys when she needed a friend more than anything.

Frisk shambles towards him, and pity flashes through Papyrus. The human hasn’t stopped to eat or rest, that he’s seen. They must be exhausted.

Papyrus opens his arms for an embrace.

The knife hurts less than the feeling of absolute betrayal.

~*~

Papyrus wakes up in his racecar bed, clutching at his neck. Phantom pains twinge through the vertebrae.

He’s here, decidedly _not_ headless, which means—

Papyrus runs across the hall and flings open the door to Sans’ room.

“Sans! I did it!” He says, excitedly. “It might have, er, rather unfortunately taken my brutal and undeserving death to do it, but still! The human felt so guilty for what they did to me and everyone else that they reset!”

Only now does he notice that Sans hasn’t stopped trembling since he stampeded in here, his fist bunched in his shirt, over his ribs.

Face falling, Papyrus comes closer to his brother.

“Sans?”

“Pap, bro…” Sans clears his throat. He sounds exhausted, worn out. “They didn’t stop. Not until they hunted down every last monster that didn’t hide well enough.”

“…And you?” Papyrus hedges. He can guess, based on Sans’ body language, but he needs his brother to confirm his suspicions.

“So _stupid_ ,” Sans growls. “What did I think I could do, really? A complete idiot, a fucking moron—”

“You’re not stupid.” Papyrus says, firmly.

“Papyrus—”

“You’re not stupid or a moron or any of those things, and I won’t listen to you demean yourself like this.” Papyrus stokes Sans’ back for a moment, as they both draw comfort form each other. Suddenly, Papyrus has a thought.

“Do you still have those blueprints? For the timeline scanner machine?”

Sans shifts, looking up at him. “You want to try buildin’ it again?”

During Flowey’s resets, they had toyed with a few ideas for a machine, but quickly dropped the idea. They haven’t dabbled in hard science seriously for years. It reminded them too much of what they’d lost. But now…

“I think we need to get a better understanding of what we’re dealing with.”

~*~

Both Sans and Papyrus play their parts as needed. Frisk isn’t rampaging through the Underground as before, but they can tell Frisk has dusted a few monsters during their newest journey.

Papyrus feels as if he’s stepping over his own grave as he pulls the human into battle. Frisk dodges and weaves around his bone attacks with a practiced ease, but they never strike Papyrus. When the time comes to spare them, he does so.

His role played, Papyrus returns home.

(Sans is waiting for him on the front porch. He tears up with relief at his brother’s arrival, and Papyrus hugs him tightly, to quell the shaking of his own bones. Neither acknowledge this later.)

They immediately get started on the machine, but it’s frustrating work. They’ll finish drawing up a set of equations, and Frisk will reset. Papyrus scavenges for days at the dump to find the precise materials they need for the project, and lugs them all the way back to Snowdin when Frisk pulls him back to his first day of searching. Papyrus spends so much time at the dump, he’s sure the smell of trash lingers on him even through the resets.

It’s exhausting and maddening, but with every slight jump in time, Papyrus just grows more and more determined. With every reset, he finds those materials just a little bit faster, memorizes more and more chunks of the formulas he and Sans think up.

Despite Frisk’s never-ending timeline shenanigans, they ultimately finish the machine. It’s a hulking thing, that takes up a huge portion of their backyard shed. They have to shove all their boxes of old research up against the walls. Papyrus’ fingers itch to clean up the precarious stacks, but they have to make the best of their limited time.

Sans glances over at him.

“You ready to give this a shot?”

“There’s no time like the present!” Papyrus had wanted to include Flowey in on this moment, but their flower friend has been rather difficult to track down since the human’s arrival. He’ll have to fill Flowey in on whatever they find at a later date.

Sans keys in a command, and the brothers hold their collective breath as the machine boots up for the first time—

~*~

And they’re right outside the shed. Sans has the silver key in his hand, arm outstretched, about to open the door.

“Oh come _on_!” Papyrus can’t help but stomp his foot. Did the human _really_ have to reset right this very instant, and rob them of the dramatic tension of the moment?!

Sans just laughs it off. “At least the machine’s still finished.”

He lets them both back inside. The machine sits, inactive, awaiting them.

“Well thank goodness for small mercies.” Papyrus harrumphs. “I _refuse_ to go dumpster-diving for an eleventh time. If the human resets again before we finish, _you’re_ responsible for collecting the parts.”

“Is that so?” Sans picks up the pace on the activation code; the only thing that truly motivates him is the threat of more work.

The machine hums to life, uninterrupted this time. Code scrawls across the monitor as the machine’s computer calibrates for every potential reality. Sans returns to Papyrus’ side, the brothers awaiting the results with nervous anticipation.

The energy the machine requires to function is enormous. Papyrus shudders to think of the electricity bill, and finds himself a little relieved to think of the next reset.

The machine beeps lowly as it concludes its scan—Papyrus gasps aloud at the result.

There are so, so many potential timelines, looping back and feeding into each other before snaking away from the main thread, to coil up in others. In total they look like a jumbled ball of string. But what is most disconcerting is the maw of darkness at the edge of the screen.

Sans reaches out, touching the tips of his gloves to the emptiness, the _nothingness_.

“…oh.” Is all Papyrus can manage.

It’s one thing when you’re stuck in a loop and everything resets. It’s entirely another when there’s a definitive end on the horizon. When time will be dead instead of simply stagnant.

Sans moves over to the nearest wall, sliding down into a sitting position. Papyrus joins him.

He casts about for something to say, something to lift the somber mood weighing on them both, but he feels like anything he says will be an empty platitude. Their lives, and the lives of everyone in the Underground, everyone in the world—it’ll all amount to nothing.

Sans is the first to break the silence.

“I bet…” He swallows. “I bet, after this run…the human will do another genocide run. 5G.”

Sans needs to normalize their situation, as they had when Flowey controlled their fate. Their bets had been about simple things, never something as macabre as their fate. This is on an entirely new level. Sans has thrown down the gauntlet. His eye lights pierce into Papyrus, begging him to pick it up.

And he does. Of course he does. What else can he do?

“Foolish, foolish brother,” Papyrus keeps his voice steady. Striving for normalcy. “Clearly the human is exploring other options at this moment. I say we increase the wager!”

“Fine. 6G.”

“No.”

“8G?”

“Nope.”

“3G?”

“That’s going down!” Papyrus taps his gloves together in contemplation. “If you lose the bet, you have to buy me as many milkshakes as I want from Grillby’s.”

“Is that all?”

“And…you can’t eat any of Grillby’s greasy meals for the whole timeline.”

“Harsh, bro.”

Papyrus holds out his hand. “Do we have a bet?”

“We do.”

Sans reaches out to shake his hand, but Papyrus reconsiders at the last second and snatches his hand back.

“Bro?”

“Your habitual handshake japery will not trump me today!” Papyrus leaps up. “There is a buzzer or a whoopee cushion or some sort of infernal device on your palm and I am not falling for it.”

“Would I do that?”

“You _have_ done that!”

Papyrus puts his hands on his hips, surveying the machine.

“If we want to keep the machine active, we’ll need to set up a barrier around the shed to shield it from any further reset tomfoolery.”

Sans rises, joints popping as he stretches.

“I’ve got a few ideas we can try.”

“We cannot delay. I will fetch you some coffee so you can keep up with my astounding energy.”

“Thanks, bro. You’re the coolest.”

“Indeed!”

Papyrus strides from the shed—and steps directly onto a large rubber chicken.

He springs away from it, and it lets out a slow, agonized wheeze.

“ _Sans_!!”

~*~

After Papyrus rockets the rubber chicken into space, they stabilize the shed, enabling it and the objects within it to keep their state throughout resets. (Papyrus is right about the next reset. He slurps down so many milkshakes he nearly pukes, as Sans gazes wantonly at the plates of food Grillby serves other customers.)

Papyrus and Sans take to storing things in the shed that they don’t want to part with. Papyrus keeps the first spear he ever carved with Undyne, and Sans tucks away a few photo albums, adding pictures from timelines he especially enjoyed.

The resets are never-ending. At first, every reset had some new twist to it; only Undyne would be spared, or the brothers worked under Mettaton.

A handful of times, they even reach the surface again. Sans and Papyrus drink in the warmth of the setting sun in silence before they’re inevitably pulled back.

And then things start to grow…repetitive, more so than they already were.  Every potential ending is explored, but the human refuses to let up, dragging them back to the day after they fell into the Underground again and again and again and again and again—

~*~

In the middle of the night, Papyrus calls Flowey out to their customary meeting place in Waterfall.

Papyrus has always liked it here; the gentle rush of water and the luminescent echo flowers usually set him at peace.

He’s drawn his knees up to his chest tightly, desperate for any modicum of comfort. Flowey sits by his side, waiting for Papyrus to gather himself enough to speak.

“Flowey?” His voice is lower than a whisper. The echo flowers don’t pick up a thing. “If I asked you to keep a secret from Sans, you would, right?”

“…Sure.”

“Don’t ever tell Sans, but I’m…” Papyrus hunches tighter in on himself. “I’m scared.”

Flowey wraps a vine around Papyrus’ shoulders, in imitation of a hug. It’s all he can think to do.

~*~

Papyrus sinks back into the throne. Asgore’s throne had been comically large for him, and the New Home carpenters were quick to build him a brand new one to suit his smaller stature. They even went the extra mile, carving tiny skulls into the curves of the framework.

Sans shuffles in, a stack of papers tucked under his arm.

“Looking good, bro.” Sans nods to his new outfit, the royal cloak draped across his shoulders.

Papyrus traces the woodwork of the throne’s arm.

“They didn’t finish the chair, last time.” Papyrus says.

“It doesn’t mean a thing. They’ll reset again.”

Sans hefts the papers in his hands.

“Wanna help me look over these?”

Papyrus nods, going along with the subject change. He follows Sans out of the throne room, to the nearby room Sans has claimed as his personal office.

Guards that pass by in the hall snap off salutes at their new king. It’s a perplexing feeling. Papyrus has wanted for so long to be powerful, popular, prestigious. And now he is all those things, only because anyone else who could’ve taken up the mantle of ruler was turned to dust. Papyrus wonders—would he ever be able to achieve his dream without the human’s help? Are the deaths of all his friends the only way he can ever amount to anything?

“Papyrus?” Sans peers up at him with concern. They’ve arrived at their destination, and Papyrus hadn’t even noticed.

He brushes past his brother into the room, ignoring Sans’ questioning gaze.

Of all the possible endings, this is his least favorite by far. For Sans, his least favorite is harder to chose; there are too many potential scenarios where Papyrus is no longer in the picture.

“So,” Sans clears his throat. He takes a seat at his desk and fans the papers out across the desk’s surface.     “All this stuff needs to be finalized today.”

“Which is most important?”

“Uh, not sure.” Sans picks a stapled packet at random. “Let’s see. This is an appeal for further construction in New Home.”

Papyrus frowns. “New Home is populous enough as is. I don’t think they can cram a single monster more into the city.”

He’d heard reports of monsters even having to separate from family, because the place had simply become too crowded.

“We could build out Hotland some more,” Sans suggests.

“That might work for some monsters, but not everyone enjoys such overpowering heat. Or conveyor belts.” Papyrus adds, reluctantly: “We should consider reopening and rebuilding the ruins of Home.”

Since Home’s watchful guardian has been felled by the human’s hand, there’s nothing stopping them any longer from reopening the sealed off section of the Underground.

Sans stills. “That would put monsters even closer to any humans that fall down here.”

One of his least favorite things about kingship is how he never seems to have the right answers. He’s the most powerful figure in the Underground, but he can’t straighten anything out.

Papyrus can feel the beginning throb of a headache building behind his temples.

“Are you alright? We, uh, don’t have to do this now.”

“You said they needed to be finalized today.”

“Yeah, but. You know.” Sans shrugs. “It could reset at any moment.”

“So we should just sit around and do nothing?” Papyrus snaps. At Sans’ look, he hastily adds: “I’m sorry, Sans. This outcome is just…always difficult for me.”

“I know, bro.” Sans rises. “You know what? Forget the paperwork.”

“Sans—” Papyrus protests. Sans tugs him up by the hand, and he reluctantly gets up.

“Come on, I have an idea.”

“We have responsibilities we’re beholden to.”

“No offense, but I don’t think you’re up to it right now.”

 _That_ strings, even if Sans doesn’t mean it to. Papyrus pulls his hand away.

“I can handle it.”

“Just trust me, alright?”

Papyrus gives in, letting Sans lead him through the winding corridors until they reach the royal kitchens. The chefs, in the middle of preparing lunch, straighten up at Papyrus’ arrival.

“King Papyrus!” The head chef greets him enthusiastically. “What can we help you with?”

“Actually,” Sans butts in. “The king wants to help you out.”

“I do?”

“Why don’t you whip up some of your signature dish? I’m sure there’s some folks out in New Home who’d appreciate a nice meal.”

“Sans…”

His brother winks. “Don’t worry so much.”

He blips out of the room, leaving Papyrus alone with the kitchen and its chefs.

Papyrus addresses the head chef.

“I don’t want to get in your way or anything.”

“Not at all!” The head chef affirms, leading Papyrus to their pantry supply. “Use whatever you’d like.”

Papyrus grabs a few boxes of tomatoes to start, carrying them over to a nearby counter. The cooks all watch, curious as to what their king is going to do.

Papyrus peels off his thick gloves, setting them aside. He clenches a plump tomato with his bare phalanges.

Envision the food as your worst enemy, Undyne always says. Frisk’s face flits across his mind, but he shakes the thought away before it can take hold. If he was just strong enough to act, a good enough person to convince Frisk to stop, if he was just _better_ —

The vegetable splatters apart in his crushing grip.

~*~

Relief washes over Papyrus as he wakes up tangled in the familiar patterned sheets of his racecar bed.

When he gets downstairs, he’s surprised to find Sans already up, attending to an omelet on the stove. Something cooks away in the microwave, too.

“Mornin’ bro.”

“You didn’t have to get up; I could’ve cooked.”

Sans flips over the omelet with a spatula.

“Even someone like you needs a break now and then. Sit down.”

Sans is worried about him. The past few resets have not been kind to either of them, but still Sans slips seamlessly into the big brother role; never mind the fact that he’s only older by a few minutes.

Rather than argue over eggs, Papyrus takes his customary seat at the table, sprinkling jimmies overtop the pet rock.

A few minutes pass silently, Papyrus deep in thought until Sans comes over with the finished omelet, and something Papyrus didn’t expect—a bowl of his favorite oatmeal, the one with the little dinosaurs in it. Packets of this oatmeal are always more difficult to find than the plain bland ones, so they only break out the dino oatmeal for special occasions. Sans must _really_ be worried about him.

“How are your eggs?” Papyrus asks, the silence between them making him feel anxious.

“’s great. Or should I say…egg-celent.”

The cold fingers of déjà vu dig into his soul.

“Sans, stop.” Papyrus warns, but Sans can’t tell that he’s grown serious.

“Egg-strordinary? Egg-quisite?”

“ _Sans_!”

Papyrus slams his hands down on the table. Their pet rock is upended.

After a moment, Sans reaches over and sets it back upright.

“…I’m sorry.” His apology is rather feeble, but it’s all Papyrus can offer.

“So I was thinkin’,” Sans starts, glazing over Papyrus’ outburst and apology. He taps his fork idly against his plate. “We should make another bet. To take our minds off of…this.”

“I’m listening.” Papyrus takes a small bite of his oatmeal.

His brother leans across the table, looking him dead in the eye.

“I bet if you asked Mettaton out, he’d say yes.”

Papyrus spits, spewing oatmeal out of his mouth. Sans wipes chunks of chewed-up oats off his skull.

“Gross, bro.”

“Ask out M-M-Mettaton? On a…date?!” Papyrus squeaks, scandalized.

“Why not?” Sans asks. “You literally have nothing to lose.”

Overcoming his initial shock, Papyrus can’t help but be intrigued by the idea. Most of their bets have centered around personal challenges, and debating Frisk’s choices. They’ve never really involved someone else (aside from Flowey, of course) in their bets before.

“Fine. But if Mettaton says no—” And Papyrus can’t imagine the glamorous robot saying yes. “—then _you_ have to ask out whoever _you_ like.”

 Sans flushes.

“Er, Pap—”

“Nyeh heh heh, what’s this?” Papyrus teases him, feeling mischievous. “Why are you nervous? You’ve got nothing to lose, right?”

Sans recovers himself. “Alright, fine. But it won’t matter.”

“Mettaton has so many fans. I’m sure he turns down fifteen proposals before breakfast!”

“But none of them are you.”

A warm, happy feeling flutters in his soul. Sans always knows what to say.

Papyrus’ phone buzzes. He takes it out of his pocket; it’s Doggo, informing him of a mysterious petting assailant.

“Oh my god! We are so late for our shift!” Papyrus tucks Sans under his arm and speeds out the door.

“Bro, our clothes—”

“No time!”

The brothers reach Frisk as they come across Sans’ word search puzzle. They seem bemused by Papyrus’ MTT pajamas, and Sans’ bathrobe, but the brothers stick resolutely to the script. Frisk seems to be going for a neutral or pacifist run this go-around, leaving every resident of Snowdin unharmed; Papyrus waves the human off as they step into Waterfall.

After Sans treats Frisk to Grillby’s, he meets back up with Papyrus at the house. Papyrus changes into his casual date outfit, and tucks his well-worn dating manual into the back pocket of his shorts, in case he needs to tap into its knowledge.

Sans takes his hand, and next thing Papyrus knows, they’re standing in the foyer of the MTT Resort.

“I need to get ready to go on for my act.” Sans nudges him in the side. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Like the mighty striped feline, I shall pounce!”

Sans leaves, to go get his skull powdered. Papyrus wanders a bit around the restaurant. He’s glad to see a sizeable crowd has turned out to see Sans’ comedy act. Sans told him that Mettaton himself frequently comes in to watch performances, to gauge the audience’s interest in the shows. This will be as good a chance as any for him to meet the boxy star.

Papyrus notices one of the MTT employees come into the restaurant, a cat monster with an armful of pink tablecloth and a jar of glitter. He seems to be struggling, so Papyrus quickly makes his way over to him.

“Greetings, friend!” He chirps. “Would you like a hand with that?”

“No, please sit down at your preferred seat. I can handle this.”

“Nonsense!” Papyrus gathers up the tablecloth. “I am happy to help.”

Seeing there’s little sense in arguing with one as determined as Papyrus is to help, the cat monster leads him to a table farther back from the stage, but gives a nice view of the whole room. He hurriedly removes the muted blue tablecloth, tossing it haphazardly in the corner. He takes the new tablecloth from Papyrus’ arms and spreads it out over the table. Then, he unscrews the tub of glitter, and pours out a liberal amount, spreading the glimmering flakes across the surface of the table until it sparkles.

“Wowie! It looks amazing.”

The employee stiffens, like he doesn’t quite know how to take praise.

“This table doesn’t happen to be for Mettaton, does it?”

“Like any other boss would put me through this.” He mutters, picking flecks of glitter out of his fur.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

The employee beams at him. “Yes, it’s Mettaton’s table, sir, so I need you to step back some. Mettaton likes a clear view of the stage when he watches the show.”

“I happen to be good friends with Mettaton, so I’ll just wait for him here.” It’s not a fib, it just hasn’t happened yet. Though he doubts Mettaton will agree to a date, Papyrus hopes they’ll be able to hit the friendzone.

The employee’s grin widens further.

“Sir, I don’t believe—”

“Is everything alright here, Burgerpants?” Comes a booming voice from behind them.

The employee—Burgerpants, evidently—stands at attention as Mettaton rolls over to the two of them. Papyrus gapes, struck speechless; Mettaton’s sharp angles are even more appealing in person.

“This guy says he, uh, knows you?”

Mettaton swivels, and all his focus is on Papyrus.

He sticks out his hand. “H-Hello Mettaton! I’m—”

“You must be Papyrus.”

 _Mettaton_ knows _his_ name. Papyrus resists the urge to squeal with delight.

“Your brother never stops talking about you backstage. I feel like I know you already.”

Mettaton wheels closer, the lights on his LED screen blipping softly.

“Oh, my. Is that MTT-brand Bishie Cream I smell?”

Papyrus preens. “Of course! The Great Papyrus only uses the _best_ products, nyeh heh heh!”

His answer visibly pleases Mettaton.

The lights dim in the restaurant, monsters directing their gaze to the stage.

“The show’s about to begin.” Mettaton says. “Why don’t you join me?”

“O-Of course!” Papyrus takes a seat at Mettaton’s sparkling table before the robot has the chance to change his mind.

Sans walks out onto the stage, to appreciative applause and whistles.

“Go Sans!” Papyrus cheers. He waves at his brother, who returns the gesture.

Sans hops up on his little comedian stool, and a loud fart rips through the air.

The audience howls with laughter as Sans lifts his seat, picking up and showing to them a deflated whoopee cushion.

Sans winks. “Whoops. Guess I forgot that was there.”

Papyrus buries his face in his hands, mortified on his brother’s behalf.

“Ugh, Sans…”

“Burgerpants!” Mettaton snaps his fingers.

“S-Sir?”

“Bring my guest something to eat. Our signature steak, perhaps.”

Burgerpants scrambles to obey, darting from the restaurant floor, back to the kitchens.

Sans continues to spout jokes in a languid, lazy manner. Mettaton surveys the crowd. He seems satisfied with what he sees, and turns his attention back to Papyrus.

Papyrus is nervous at first, but Mettaton is a practiced host; he eases Papyrus into the conversation with simple questions about his aspirations, his friends, his culinary pursuits. Burgerpants returns with his meal, a stake in the shape of Mettaton’s face, with a little sprig of lettuce on the side. _That_ gets them on a tangent about the robot’s many films.

“Truly, your best film so far was Lethal Love XVIII! The costuming! The special effects! The plot!” Papyrus nearly swoons.

But Mettaton is dismissive. “I have to disagree, darling. The writers clearly stopped caring after the holiday special.”

“No, that’s not right,” Papyrus insists. “You played the part of Captain Mettaton von Oppenheimer with such sincerity! I could feel your passion through the screen.”

“Excuse me, sirs.” They glance up at the receptionist, a pale green fish monster. “But the restaurant should close up soon. Would you like us to keep it open for you?”

“Gadzooks!” Papyrus exclaims. He and Mettaton have talked the whole night away, leaving Sans to get into god knows what trouble. He could make decorative sock art in their living room. Or let that insufferable dog chew on his action figures. “I need to go.”

“Not so fast, darling.” Mettaton’s arm extends, snagging Papyrus’ hand before he can sprint off. “We weren’t finished our conversation. I’d like to continue it with you at another time.

A small compartment opens up on Mettaton’s chest, revealing a cache of business cards. He hands one to Papyrus. It’s a light pastel pink, and he can smell perfume rising from it.

“You can call the number there. It’s my personal line. I have quite the busy schedule during the day—”

“I’ll call at night!” Papyrus blurts. “I hardly ever sleep.”

“Why don’t you give me a ring tomorrow morning, and we’ll work something out.”

Mettaton starts to wheel away, when Papyrus calls out to him. “Wait, Mettaton. Does this mean that we’re friends, or…would you like to go on a d-d-date with me?”

The receptionist gapes between them like, well, a fish. Mettaton wheels back over to Papyrus.

“Oh darling, I thought my intentions were implied well enough.” Papyrus’ soul flutters as Mettaton gives his hand a soft squeeze. “I would positively _love_ to go on a date with you.”

Papyrus skips taking the ferry, running all the way home, fueled by pure excitement and joy.

He slams open the front door of his house. He startles Sans, who evidently fell asleep in front of the television.

“Sans! Sans, I did it!”

Sans blinks. Papyrus watches awareness dawn on his face. “Wait, you seriously—?”

“Look!” He all but shoves the business card at Sans’ face. “I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Congrats, bro.”

After bidding his brother goodnight (and making sure he makes it upstairs to his bed, instead of passing out on the couch again) Papyrus slips into his racecar bed. The sooner he falls asleep, the sooner he’ll wake up again, and be able to talk to Mettaton. He forces his giddiness down, and soon drifts off into slumber.

           

~*~

Papyrus rolls over in bed. He unplugs his cell phone from his charger. Mettaton’s number is burned into his brain, and he dials it excitedly. He waits with excited anticipation as the phone rings.

There’s a click as the line is picked up.

“Hello?” Comes Mettaton’s mechanical tone.

“Mettaton! Good morning. Have you thought of a good time for us to go on our first date?”

“Who is this? Do I know you?”

Papyrus’ soul lurches.

“…It’s Papyrus. We met last night.” He explains, voice tremulous.

“I don’t know who you are, or how you got this number. Don’t call again.”

Mettaton hangs up. Papyrus stares down numbly at his phone, at the accursed date on the display. It reset _again_. Couldn’t he just have this fantasy, this chance for something new and exciting, for more than a moment before it’s ripped away from him again?

Overcome with emotion, Papyrus hurls his phone at the wall, with enough force to leave a slight dent in the plaster.

Papyrus cocoons himself in blankets, drawing them over his head. A child’s attempt to shut out the world.

“Bro?”

Papyrus doesn’t so much as twitch underneath the huddle of blankets. He hears Sans’ slippers shuffle across the carpet as he approaches the bed.

“Papyrus, I’m so sorry. When I made the bet, I wasn’t even thinking about…this. I didn’t…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Papyrus curls tighter in on himself.

“Just go.” He mutters.

“Papyrus—”

Papyrus tosses off the covers to look Sans in the eye.

“Go!” He scrubs at the tears gathering by his eye sockets. “Please, Sans. I just need some time alone.”

“Okay. I’ll…be downstairs if you need me.” Sans feels impotent, useless, but Papyrus can’t even take care of himself right now, let alone his brother.

He waits until he hears his door shut again before he curls back up in his bed. He has roughly an hour until he needs to get to his post. An hour to just lay in bed and pretend he doesn’t exist.

…

…

…And then his hour of solitude ends. He dresses sloppily and makes his way downstairs. Sans is nowhere to be found, evidently giving him the privacy he asked for.

Papyrus walks out to his sentry station in silence. The cardboard roof is drooping under its burden of heavy snow once again. He leaves it be.

Papyrus continues on, to Sans’ station, just in time to spot Frisk ducking behind a lamp to hide from him. He takes a deep breath.

“Sup, bro?” Sans asks, grin wide and easy.

Papyrus infuses his voice with its typical pep. “You know what “sup”, brother!”

He can’t do this anymore.

~*~

“What are you doing?” Sans asks, voice deceptively calm.

Papyrus freezes. Sans was supposed to stick to the script; to man his post in Waterfall, and then take Frisk out to an early dinner at Grillby’s. He shouldn’t have been home for hours yet. That’s why Papyrus had elected to do this now, on the sofa in the living room instead of in the privacy of his bedroom.

Sans approaches him cautiously, hands raised as if he’s approaching a wild animal.

“I—I figured it out.” Papyrus says. “You’re tired too, right? The same thing, over and over and over.”

Papyrus’ hand tightens on the kitchen knife, ready to plunge it into his summoned, exposed soul.

“I’m tired, Sans. If it’s all going to reset anyway, this won’t matter, right? Can’t I just—” Papyrus’ breath hitches. “Can’t I just skip a few times?”

Sans is close enough now to wrap his hands around Papyrus’. He slowly pulls the tip of the knife away.

“But what if it doesn’t reset, Paps?” Sans’ voice shakes. “What if it doesn’t?”

Papyrus smiles, a crazed look flashing in his eye lights.

“Want to bet on it?”


End file.
